


come morning light...

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But with a happy ending, F/M, graphic descriptions of wounds, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inquisitor returns home wounded, on death’s door. Cullen cries for the first time since the Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come morning light...

**Author's Note:**

> i tried so very hard not to write sads for vela  
> but i failed  
> so enjoy them

It was a blissful morning, rare in the events after the Conclave, and all were relishing in its hazy pleasure. Fog had settled over Skyhold, softening shapes and sounds and clinging to the Commander of the Inquisition’s imposing form as he mad his rounds about the battlements.

Cullen himself was mercifully migraine-free, his chest didn’t ache and his hands didn’t shake, and he was almost able to pretend he couldn’t feel the pull of the lyrium. A lazy breeze ruffled his unruly locks, and he made a mental note to tame them once he returned to his quarters. 

The only thing missing from this perfect morning? The Inquisitor. She’d been expected back to Skyhold the night before, and no raven nor courier had come to explain her tardiness. True, it wasn’t as if this hadn’t happened before, but Cullen still couldn’t shake the small pebble of worry that had wormed its way into his stomach. 

Shaking his head as if trying to shake the thoughts from his head, the Commander resumed his walk, slipping into his tower and turning himself fully to his work. 

He should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

-~-

It was just about midday when Skyhold stirred. A horn sounded, and the bray of a hart called back from the bridge. Cullen was up and out of his office without so much as a second thought to the stack of papers he’d sent flying in his haste. 

A second horn echoed against the cobbled walls around him, and he paused mid-step. Two horns? That usually meant someone was… The pebble in his gut turned into a boulder and he quickened his pace into the courtyard, heart dropping when he caught sight of a familiar body laid across the back of the Inquisitor’s red hart. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, only able to stare at the blood-slicked side of the animal, the unmoving form draped along his back, the limp hand bouncing against his shoulder. _No, no, she couldn’t be…_

People rushed by him, shouting and carrying various bottles and rolls of bandages. He paid them no heed, eyes glued to the Inquisitor as she was gently pulled off her hart. The animal seemed agitated, nuzzling his velvet nose against her cheek before being quite literally pulled away from her and towards the stable. Distantly, Cullen heard someone calling his name, and he forced himself to focus on the man before him. Dorian. 

“Commander? Finally rejoining us here on the ground, hm?” The mage looked worn out, visibly shaking and swaying in place. He was covered in blood - whether it was his own or the Inquisitor’s, Cullen couldn’t tell - and there were tracks on his cheeks as if he’d been crying.

“What happened to her, Pavus? You’re supposed to be protecting her!” He grabbed the man’s shoulders roughly, shaking him with the last few words. 

“I-” His voice broke, and he looked down. “I know, Cullen.” He sounded utterly defeated, bringing his staff around to lean on it. “I tried…” He murmured, more to himself than the other man. 

“Obviously not hard enough.” Cullen snapped, brushing past him and stalking towards the healer’s tent. The other companions, Cole and Cassandra, stood nearby, in no better condition than Dorian. Cassandra’s arm was in a sling, and Cole had already red bandages all over his harms and unhealed cuts crisscrossing his cheeks. The boy was pacing, muttering to himself, and Cassandra looked ready to fall asleep on her feet. They had obviously been through a lot, and a tiny prick of guilt lanced through the Commander’s chest as he realized how harsh he’d been on Dorian. 

A weak cry of pain yanked him from his thoughts, and he was on his knees at the Inquisitor’s side in the blink of an eye, appearances be damned. He didn’t know how to touch her to avoid hurting her, so he settled for clasping his hands into fists as he watched the healers slowly remove her helmet and begin cutting through her ruined armor. He frowned, remembering her gush over the armor just after she’d finished making it - it had been her favorite, she’d said. 

It wasn’t long before she was bare from head to toe, laid out like someone who’d already passed. Cullen would’ve blushed, had they not already been intimate together before. But she had been full of life then, laughing and smirking with a red tint over her cheeks and ears. Now… she was pale, covered in burns and bruises and long, jagged gashes. 

“Blood… too much blood. Red, raging, raw. She’s getting dimmer, darkness pulling. He’s here, she can feel him, why wont he talk?” Cole shuddered, sitting at Cullen’s side and looking up at him like a frightened animal. 

Cullen swallowed, lifting a hand to gently, gently, touch the Inquisitor’s cheek. “L-love?” His tongue felt thick, and he had to draw it across his lips before he spoke again. “I’m here, can you open your eyes?” 

She stirred, trying to force her eyes open. One was swollen shut, ugly and blue and puffy, but the other managed to crack open enough for them to see the glassy purple of her gaze. A small sigh of relief was breathed through those gathered, but Cullen felt tears began to prick at his own eyes. 

He was quick to blink them away, but that proved fruitless when the woman rasped his name through a torn throat. The salty tears splashed against her fingers, and she struggled to lift her hand to his cheek, thumb swiping through the next tear. “Don’t cry, _ma vheraan_.” She managed, a small smile lifting her lips when he pressed a kiss into her palm. 

He failed to stifle a sob at the Elven words, throat closing around his breath. Magic crackled in the air around them, and he watched as many of her more minor injuries knitted themselves together. She groaned in pain, dropping her hand again. 

“Stinging and searing, hurts to breathe, but I have to be strong. For them, for him.” Cole said, almost too quiet for Cullen to hear. He turned to the boy, unable to hold his tears back.

“Can you help her?” He hated the way his voice sounded, wavering and sad, and he furiously scrubbed at the water on his cheeks. 

Cole shook his head slowly, but extended a hand to brush his fingers over her temple. He was still for a few moments as the healers rushed around them, spreading salves and pouring magic into her wounds to speed the healing. 

“She’s barely there. Darkness wrapping around her, warm and soft and safe. But wrong. Wrong safe and sharp soft. Not like when he holds her. He’s here. Holding and hurting and _here_. Pulling her out of the dark, keeping her head above water.” Cole’s eyes open and he pulls back, standing. “She will live.” And he leaves, disappearing into thin air with the tiniest amount of smoke. 

Cullen frowns, but finds himself heaving a sigh of relief. She would live. 

-~-

The next morning finds them in her plush bed. She smells of elfroot and bitter herbs but even through the haze of sleep he can feel her breathing and tucks her in tighter against him. She murmurs against his chest but doesn’t stir otherwise, and he pulls away only the slightest bit to look at her. 

She’s still pale, but color is slowly returning to her skin. The bruises are yellowed, and all but the absolute biggest of the gashes are scabbed over already. She’s alive. _Maker, she’s alive._


End file.
